


Merry Christmas

by TW Lewis (gardendoor)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-10
Updated: 2005-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardendoor/pseuds/TW%20Lewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old nickname gets Blair in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: Not mine, and if you don't like grown men boinking, you might want to turn and run while you still can. Much thanks to the usual suspects, Andi, Pam, Pat, Sheila, Marion, Caro Dee.

It was all Rafe’s fault. Brown was the one who suggested the surprise party at Deacon’s, but Rafe was the one who decided to invite Sandburg’s old friends from Rainier, figuring Blair would realize that anyone who actually showed up to celebrate was still a good friend and that was the best present Rafe could give Blair for free. Which was a good idea, as far as it went, but he hadn’t counted on the nickname.

“So, Christmas, you’re really a cop now? With a gun?” asked one of the TAs, leaning in to get a better look at Blair’s shiny new badge. By that point, everyone except the designated drivers were several sheets to the wind, and Jim found himself listening from across the room to make sure this hippie TA wasn’t going to give Blair flak for becoming a ‘Pig’.

“‘Christmas’?” Henri echoed, frowning into his fifth beer. “Sandburg’s Jewish. How come you called him Christmas?”

“Cause he’s hung with blue balls?” Megan hiccupped.

“Cause he comes but once a year?” Rafe snickered.

“Nope,” said the guy, leaning back on the bar with his elbows and grinning widely.

“Sam, if you tell them, I’m going to have to kill you,” Blair warned, “And now I know lots of ways to hide the body.”

“Cause he’s like a kid at Christmas in bed,” a Civil War historian named Ginger piped up. “Too many toys to play with.”

“Gin!” Blair shrieked, blushing beet red as the Major Crimes gang blinked.

“You said you’d kill Sam, not her,” pointed out another TA, Jeremy. “S’great, though. He can make you come three times just by biting your thumb and licking your wrists, spend an hour working your nipples or rubbing your feet, never even get your clothes off. That’s the problem, though, too much stuff for him to play with; half the time you never even get fucked.”

“This is a nightmare,” Blair groaned as Rafe, Brown, Joel, Megan and Simon all goggled at him. “I’m being punished or something.”

“You’re, uh, Hairboy, you bat for the home team?” Brown asked.

“Christmas here bats for any team that taps him,” Ginger giggled. “And believe me, they tap him _dry_.”

That did it. “I’m wiped, guys,” Jim snarled as he stood up to leave. “I’ll catch a cab home.” He stormed out of the bar quite well, considering the floor was moving underfoot, and was savagely satisfied by the moment of shocked silence he left in his wake before his roommate, the man he kept mistakenly thinking he knew, yelped and ran after him.

“Jim? Jim, come on man, wait up!”

A hand gripped his sleeve, and Jim jerked away from Blair. “Don’t, Chief. Don’t you fucking come near me, or I won’t be held responsible for what happens.” He yanked his arm free of Blair’s grip and strode across the parking lot, Sandburg right on his heels. Damn kid never knew how to quit while he was ahead.

“Oh that’s just great,” Blair snapped. “You know, this is why I never told you, because I knew you’d freak out. Manly, hetero, bigoted Jim Ellison is scared that being a fag is contagious, or that after four fucking years of living together without a problem, that suddenly I’m going to be grabbing his ass in the locker room.”

Jim whirled around and grabbed Blair’s collar, was surprised to find Blair’s hands automatically come up to circle his wrists, not breaking the grip but ready to do so if needed. “I’m not angry because you’re gay. Bi. Whatever. I’m angry because in four years your heart never skipped a beat when you looked at me, your scent never warmed when I touched you. I’m angry because there’s absolutely no reason why you’re not attracted to me except that I’m not good enough for you.” As Jim watched shock and pity and bleak humor cross Blair’s face, he realized that house rule number 47, never get in a verbal joust with Sandburg, should be amended to read: …and never ever open your mouth around Sandburg when you’re drunk.

He tried to jerk away before things got any worse, but Sandburg’s grip was textbook perfect on his wrists, and Sandburg was chuckling, Sandburg was laughing at him, and said, “Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me. Obfuscating about panic attacks to excuse my brain cells rapidly migrating to my little head, four years of learning to meditate so you’d never catch on, and just my luck, you never caught on.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Sandburg!” Since he couldn’t break away, Jim settled for gripping Blair’s shirt and shoving him up against the nearest brick wall, but Blair wasn’t scared, his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“Jim, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for a replay of this?” He bowed his head and scraped his teeth along Jim’s thumb, sucked it into his mouth, bobbing up and down on it so Jim squirmed under the exquisite torture of sharp teeth and soft lips, hot mouth and cool night air. Someone was whimpering somewhere, and Jim found it rather annoying until he realized that it was him. Blair’s fingers were rubbing the trigger points on his wrist bones, which felt under that perfect stroking like the sweet spot on his cock where head met shaft, and Blair was sucking Jim’s thumb like it was a little cock, and angling his thigh to give Jim something to thrust against, and in Jim’s defense, it was only when Blair twisted forward to lick Jim’s earlobe that Jim’s voice broke.

He was shaking at that point, but that was okay, because Blair gathered Jim in his arms and held him close.

“Don’t fuck with me, Sandburg,” Jim whispered, “Don’t play with me. I’m not your goddamn Christmas toy or your graduation present.” With that, he flipped Blair around and held his wrists prisoner with one hand to show the rookie how it was done.

“Oh god,” Blair whispered as Jim bent him over the hood of a car. “Oh god oh god oh god...”

Jim fished through Sandburg’s jacket pocket with his free hand until he found the condom and trial packet of lube Sandburg always kept handy, ‘just in case,’ and slapped them on the hood of the car. He yanked down Blair’s pants with his free hand, unzipped himself and sheathed himself with the condom before slowly pressing inside his friend, his partner, his lover, until he could rest his weight on the younger man’s back. Blair’s heart was racing now, his brain appeared stuck on those two words like a broken record, and there was no question of who was in control as Jim slowly and firmly pumped his cock inside the searing, silky heat of his Guide. Jim knew he was more than a bit bigger than average; usually that made him afraid of hurting his partner, but now that extra thickness and length was a tool, a way to break through Blair’s defenses and leave him vulnerable to Jim.

“Feel that?” Jim growled as Blair’s muscles spasmed and fluttered around his length, making room until Jim thought he could crawl deep enough inside Blair to stroke his heart with these slow, firm thrusts. “So sure of yourself, of that great brain of yours, that you got sidetracked by the details. You forgot what was important here.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh Jim, please, oh god,” Blair begged.

“You forgot about our partnership.” Jim snapped his hips and broke Blair’s litany into a desperate howl. “You didn’t trust me, tried to handle Sid and your mom and the whole disaster on your own, and then you didn’t understand why I felt blindsided by the mess.” His control was rapidly eroding as Blair’s body coaxed him deeper inside, making him thrust harder to bury himself totally in his Guide, but he clung to what needed to be said for the few seconds that he could still form words. “You still don’t get it, Sandburg, this isn’t a game or a puzzle you can run rings around. You can -- unh! -- abandon a game when it gets boring. This is us. This is our partnership, our life.” He was sweating in the freezing air, eyes stinging with tears as he clenched his fists in the slick nylon of Blair’s police jacket and thrust one last, desperate time. And he cradled Blair with his trembling muscles as the younger man came crying, letting Blair wear himself out before surrendering to the inevitable and spurting hot, thick cream inside his Guide. “Not your project, not your present,” he panted. “Please.”

Blair pulled away at that moment, and Jim slumped against the car, crying, but Blair wasn’t leaving, he was just twisting around to face him, to hold him. “Shhh,” Blair kissed his mouth, his eyelashes, his forehead, his throat. “You’re right, but you don’t get it either, Jim. I’m not playing. I’m not going to leave you. When are you going to get that through your head?”

Jim’s sentinel hearing picked up the sounds of the party leaving the bar, and he tugged Blair down to curl up against him on the snowy ground, out of view. They waited in silence as their friends passed unknowingly by their hiding place, laughing as they piled in their cars and drove away. Jim just buried his face in the heady scent of Blair’s shorn curls, wondering when it would ever be enough, when he could trust Blair wouldn’t leave, when Blair could trust that Jim didn’t want him to go, when they could just be, complete. He hummed gently under his breath, absently recognizing the tune and supplying new words. “I’m dreaming of a tight Christmas...”

Blair chuckled and mock-punched him, but his face turned serious. “It isn’t over, is it? All that doubt and misunderstanding? It won’t end.”

Jim shook his head at the rookie’s naivete, stood up, and helped his partner to his feet. “That’s life, Sandburg. And it’s just beginning. Come on; let’s get you out of the cold.”

End.


End file.
